


The Queer Angel Of A.Z. Fell and Co.

by Dippingmytoesindreams



Series: Good Omens/my newest hyperfixation [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: FUCK, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I can't believe this is a series now, POV Outsider, Which is on par with all of their videos in the series anyway, shyan if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dippingmytoesindreams/pseuds/Dippingmytoesindreams
Summary: Ryan promptly loses his shit. The camera vibrates and zooms on his fear-stricken face, wide-eyed and pallid. Someone pulls the camera equipment out of the way as Shane pulls off the rest of the dulled carpeting, revealing a white chalk pentagram dotted with runes and foreign languages, most of which indecipherable in the frankly terrible lighting."Holy shit, holy- What the actual FUCK dude?" Ryan is sputtering in the background, a mess of a man. Shane laughs, facing the camera, sleepy eyes crinkled in mirth. "Well that doesn't seem very angelic," he says, cheerful, and proceeds to sit smack-dab in the middle of the circle, Sallie House style.Ryan is still screaming how they were all just SITTING THERE 10 MINUTES AGO WHAT THE FUCK.AKA; Just another regular night for the Ghoul Boys.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens/my newest hyperfixation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099364
Comments: 9
Kudos: 103





	The Queer Angel Of A.Z. Fell and Co.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone. This is, apparently, a thing now. Yes, I know the title isn't original, but I wanted to make it read as similarly as an episode, and it was, unfortunately, the aptest I can think of. Some things to keep in mind;
> 
> The GO universe here is a mix mash of TV and Book Omens, which in my head means that while it takes place in 1990, thus fitting more appropriately with the current timeline (AKA a better 2021, where the pandemic does not exist), Crowley and Aziraphale follow closely with their TVsonas. The MAD (Mass Apocalyptic Delusion) will be mentioned often, but I detail it in the story itself. Where are Crow and Azi? South Downs! Happy and in love, and before the episode comes out, had never thought that they had impacted the SoHo community in such a way. They just kind of...up and left, I guess. They visit from time to time, and Crowley likes to pretend to slither around to bother people. I'm not sure if I'm gonna make an epilogue from their POV after the Postmortem, comment to persuade me!

[ _The screen plays the opening intro of Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural, complete with its ominous howling, the decrepit mansion and a UFO beam stamping the cover in its bold red, white and yellow font. There is a clap of thunderstorm_ ]

"This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural we will be covering A.Z. Fell's Antiquarian and Booksellers in Soho, London, or, better known as, the Queer Angel of Soho as part of our ongoing investigation into the question; _Are ghosts real_?"

We see the boys sitting in what seems to be an English pub, instead of their usual Unsolved Set in Buzzfeed HQ, LA. It is delightfully well lit.

The camera briefly pans to Shane, who shakes his head, and continues to admit, "I've gotta say this has got to be _the_ most interesting case I have ever had Ryan propose to me, though. I mean, the LGBTQ+ community had existed for, well, thousands-,"

"Thousands?"

" _Thousands_."

"Oh yeah, yeah, thousands of years.”

“So it’s not, I mean, it’s not exactly far-fetched to believe that the history of, at least, like, half of the places we’ve been through might have had, their own unique parts that pile together as part of the history of the-the community. Gay people, trans people, bi people, um,”

“Demisexual people, pansexual, polyamorous people, gender nonconforming, non-binary, genderfluid, are we missing-,”

“Polyamorous people? Um, and-more.” 

“And more!” Ryan parrots, cheerfully. They both laugh a little. “I’m sorry if we missed anybody,” he says, to which Shane interjects, “It’s a very big community! A diverse, beautiful group of people-,”

“Aromantic and asexuals!”

“Love us some aroaces!” Shane agrees. “Every single one of you is-are-valid.”

“Absolutely. I get what Shane was getting at though, A.Z. Fell’s would be the first haunted location we would be heading to with such a blatant, rich Queer history. Shane has promised to be on his _very best_ behaviour,”

Shane mimes a silent symbol of Scout’s honour. Ryan chuckles.

“Which I do not trust completely-,”

“I’ll be a good boy!”

“Sounds pretty sus.”

“I wi-hey! I will! I made a scout’s honour, I was a scout, I acknowledge that the building we are about to head into means, uh, means a great deal, to a lot of people, I respect that!”

“It does, I- I actually have to admit, I’m a little nervous, not just because of, like, the prospect of what we will found inside the building but also the fact that I think we could be, the first paranormal investigation team to ever had permission to undergo an actual _investigation_ inside the building instead of just, like, the _outside_ of it, which has usually been the case for any other paranormal investigators. The Soho community is very, very protective of it and I really, _really_ don’t want to mess this up.”

Shane nods solemnly, and gestures Ryan to begin with the Timeline. 

[ _The screen fades to black, and a timeline begins to appear in thematic black and white.  
[Ryan] For anyone interested in the Paranormal and eccentric, A.Z. Fell’s and Co. Antiquarian and Booksellers is not an uncommon name. The bookstore had officially been opened in the 1800 by eccentric store owner Aziraphale Zachariah Fell, who had been fondly dubbed Fell or Aziraphale by most of his colleagues. Even from it’s opening, the bookstore had been home to what seems to be the most incredible collection of history and tomes to be seen in current New England. This had been claimed by many to be a particularly bold move, considering how the store had been situated in the very middle of Soho, London, known far and wide as a red district of notorious gambling clubs, pubs and prostitution. The shop would continue to be passed down from generation to generation, by what primarily seems to be male heirs who go by the exact same name for decades.  
The shop would_ really _begin to pick-up its reputation, however, during late 18th Century to Early 19th Century, where Mister Fell had frequently been accused and tried for underground Queer Activism, harbouring and protecting runaway trans and homosexuals, during which times England had been cruel and unjustly jailing the queer community. The shop was, as claimed by many, quite blatantly and openly selling and supporting various Queer works, and the shop owner had even written as possibly Queer himself_ -]

**(laughs)“Possibly”**

(wheeze) Okay, yeah, it really seems to sound like Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt here. 

**He was actively supporting and protecting the Queer community, was promoting Queer works, calling HIMSELF Queer, and people were still like “y’know Mister Fell, I’m beginning to think you’re not entirely straight yourself!”**

D’ you think at some point he just straight up kissed a dude in the middle of the road and they were still like, “Wow, look at that, just guys being dudes!”

 **Just-(laughing) Just pals bein’ bros.**

(Laughing) Fucking-jesus man. 

[ _The shop does not officially close until the date directly following the Mass Apocalyptic Delusion of 1990 where the shop closes shortly after, and the owner was never heard of again._

 _Interestingly, this is where fact begins to blend strangely with fiction_ ]

(We hear Shane groan in despair in the background, a mutter of “Oh no, here we go.”)

[ _For those of you a who do not know, the Mass Apocalyptic Delusion, or MAD was known to be a period of time which a large percentage of England had experienced what seems to be an unexpected, large scale Mass Hysteria government and scientists had claimed to be due to toxic poisoning of chemicals in the water system, spanning all of the South and West of Britain. Thousands of people claim to experience almost ALL of Christian Apocalyptic Disasters including, but not limited to-The rain of fish, the swarm of locusts, and most bizarrely, a ring of FIRE lighting up the M25 to create the dread sigil Odegra, with the people and electronics chanting it’s meaning_ **All Hail the Great Beast, destroyer of Worlds** ]

**Which, okay, first of all**

(laughing)

**Let me just say, is just the most fucking baller thing ever.**

(wheeze)Are you being fucking serious right now?

 **(Sputters) What, wouldn’t, you don’t fucking think so?**

No, I don’t fucking think so! Why would I-

**You wouldn’t think how fucking, just, amazing it is to see fucking thousands of people being LIT IN FIRE, chanting All Hail The Great Beast, Destroyer of Worlds?!**

Shane, they were all on fucking fire!

**Nobody was actually hurt! I think it’s very bonding.**

(wheeze)You think it’s bonding-just, the whole family, sittin’ in a traffic jam

 **Heading to, I don’t know, like a picnic or whatever,**

And everybody was on their phones and the dad was just like “Hey, kids, you wanna play a fun little game I thought of just now-,”

**And he just fucking lit-(laughing) he just sort of burst into flames, “Sing it with me, kids!”**

(laughing) like to the tune of Mary Poppins or something, (singing) “All hail the Great Beast, the Unholy Majesty, the Destroyer of Worlds,” what a great-that’s a wonderful family road trip memory right there-

**What you didn’t (laughing) I played that with my dad all the time-your dad never lit himself on fire in family road trips?**

No, I can’t (wheeze) can’t recall that really ever happening no. Just very boring road trip stuff, no fire involved. 

[ _During this period, hundreds of eyewitnesses have claimed to see the bookstore catch on_ fire- _unsurprising due to the flammability of various items inside the bookshop. But strangely, the local fire department that had been tasked to extinguish this fire, including Chief Constable Gerard T. Michelin and Fire Department Chief George F. Handell claims that the fire had been almost impossible to put out for a course of_ 5 whole hours _-which had been the climax period of the Delusion. Constable Michelin also claims that the fire had affected NONE of its surroundings neighbours and did not spread. This phenomenon creates a clear division between the public, between those who claim it to be part of the delusion, and those who don’t, despite the unchanged, certain report that authorities had found the source of the fire to be a lit brass candelabra lighting up old stacked tomes in the dining area of the bookstore-thus providing a logical explanation as to the start of the fire itself, despite its odd behaviour._ ]

“So here we are,” Ryan says, grimacing into the camera. Shane is way ahead of him, posing with the line of Pride flags hung above the doorway of the old bookstore. The building itself seems to stand on the very corner of 19 Greek Street, amazingly well preserved. The camera pans upwards to allow the audience the sight of the polished steel store sign proclaiming it to be A.Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian Booksellers, and in smaller lettering Open in 1800. The sky is tinged with the familiar orange and violet of dusk. Traffic is light. “A.Z Fell’s. If we succeed, the Ghoul Boys might even capture evidence of the existence of an angel, which is, as you understand, a far sight better than any other spirits we have ever tried to contact in the history of this show.”

[ _Now that we’ve gone over the historical facts of the building, let’s go over the legends surrounding it. Or more specifically, A.Z. Fell himself._ ]

The scene cuts to the boys sitting across an old, curly-haired bespectacled woman. Her face is pleasant without being necessarily friendly. The screen flashes a sign proclaiming her to be the Assistant Managing Director of A.Z. Fell and Co, and that her name is Nancy Hearth. She has a lesbian flag sewn into the shoulder of her jean jacket.

“It’s wonderful to finally see you in person Nancy, you know me as Ryan Bergara, we’ve talked about our visit on the phone, this is my co-host, Shane. Shane, Nancy is the Assistant Managing Director of the building, also acting as the main caretaker after Mister-after the Delusion in 1990.” Ryan introduces, stumbling a bit at the last bit. Shane and Nancy share a firm handshake, exchanging murmured Pleasant to meet you’s and Charmed’s. 

“Now, Nancy, we are investigating the legends surrounding the building and previous owners of A.Z. Fell’s and Co, is there anything you might be able to tell us about this place, and about him?” Ryan begins, clasping his hands on the table between them. Shane leans back casually into his chair. Nancy’s lips quirk gently in amusement. 

She dithers a bit over where to begin, before finally-enunciating carefully and casually- “There has never ‘owners’ of A.Z Fell’s. There was never more than one person. It was, and always had been, one person.” 

Ryan blinks. Shane’s brow furrows and starts; “Wait, so if the shop had been opened in the 1800’s-,”

“I know it sounds weird. He would’ve been over more than 150 years old when the shop burned, but it’s a fact that rings true. Over time it as just another piece of him to accept and move on from.”  
“This is apparently true from multiple colleague accounts and documentation,” Ryan adds. “One legend surrounding A.Z Fell claims that he doesn’t seem to age. There are, pictures- _no, don’t give me that look_ , undoctored, real polaroids of A.Z Fell during the grand opening in 1800, and pictures taken from kids and friends and social media of him during 1990. And they look _exactly_ the same.”  
“Even his clothes.” Muses Nancy, to which Ryan parrots “Even his clothes!”

“So, what, you’re saying that he’s-immortal?” Shane asks, sceptically.

“Some like to think so,” Nancy says. “There are dozens of other theories as well. Some say he ages slowly. Others say it’s the bookshop. Back when he was still-with us, this place was almost quite literally a forest. His collection was massive. Some of my friends like to say that if you didn’t know the place well enough, even Time could get lost, which is a pretty accurate phrase all things considered. We all knew that Time worked very differently inside the shop.”

[ _According to Nancy, Mister Fell was the, quote, “What kids from the rest of the world like to imagine Englishmen to be,” end quote. He had a specific, completely unironic, Victorian idea of fashion-trench coats, vests, complete with a signature pocket watch to tell the time. He was frequently seen in calm summer pastel colours, such as pink, sky blue, and his favourite-tan beige. He loved Tartan and wasn’t afraid to show it. He_ talked _like your snobby grandmothers and distant aunts would; his accent snobby and strong. He was plump and pale. He LOOKED like an angel, and in fact, those familiar with him would know that that was what his significant other called him too._ ]

“Aw,” Said Shane with a dopey grin, as if he couldn’t help it. Nancy’s smile was wide and genuine.  
“As far as we knew, Crowley called him almost nothing else.” She stated.  
“Crowley as in-,” Ryan said.  
“Anthony J. Crowley, yes.” She said, nodding in confirmation. It is here her brow furrows again. “I mean, he never really, of course, actively called him his husband, not even his partner. They were quite obviously in love, but they were, well, he obviously had a lot of hang-ups. On one of the days leading up to the- Delusion, people saw that they were…fighting. And it was, um, it was pretty bad, at least from how the stories go. For some people, it would be the last they ever saw of him.” 

[ _But it wasn’t these behaviours that really keyed people into the fact that Mr Fell might not be as he seems. Besides his oddly old fashioned tendencies and behaviours, Mr Fell was also said to be impossibly wealthy. He is quite frequently seen eating in high-class English establishments; his favourite of which is the Ritz. According to Christopher E. Jesselton, who had served as the lead waiter during which Mr Fell still frequented, “Every eating establishment and local business knew of Mr Fell, and we wait on him as one would wait for Royalty. No one and nothing ever wants to disappoint him…and this included every appliance, ingredient and facility we would have on hand. You might think I sound be crazy, but I’ve seen wine bottles replenish themselves in front of my very eyes. Reservation tables would always be miraculously available when he wanted them to be. If the ingredients for the dish he wanted was out of stock for weeks, it would miraculously appear in the cabinets when you check again. The business would triple. Profit would double. Customers leave happy and the boss would give you your leave on Christmas Eve for no reason than that he was in a good mood. I definitely don’t think he is one, but if Fell was human like you and I…than nothing could explain it away from other than the idea that God would bless anything he touches.” End quote. Fell was also no stranger to antique bidding auctions and had nothing against spending over MILLIONS of dollars over a single item._ ]

**Jesus, all that money from selling a couple of dusty old books?**

(wheeze) That’s it-that’s what you take from that, not that the former lead waiter of the Ritz thinks God shines out of his ass?

 **Well, that-he-I’m just gonna put everything he said aside, for now, all of those had reasonable explanations especially if this guy was that fucking rich!**  
All from selling a couple of, like you said, a couple of old books?

**Well, I imagine being in the antique business to be quite ludicrous, I mean, people get away with selling junk cars for thousands of bucks just because it’s an-old model or something, makes them quite rare-**

What happened to Eat the Rich?

**Yeah, well, he also sounds like someone’s grandma and fucked over cops to save innocent homeless gays, so, he’s obviously also using his privilege right here. A+ for that, I’mma let this one slide.**

(giggles) 

[ _However, most other instances that key into his Otherness would most frequently come in the presence of the shop itself_ ]

“The first time I met Fell, I was, um, I was 13, and I and a couple of other kids were trying to get by after being kicked out of our houses.” Nancy began, and her lips and eyes were tight. Shane and Ryan nod respectively, eyes and ears attentive. “I’m over 50 now, and this kind of thing-it was still unfortunately quite commonplace when I was very young. It’s still, unfortunately, it still happens now, but not as frequently, people are becoming very more accepting of it. SoHo, it was-it was a bad place. It was dangerous. Cops were still out there, kicking you on the curbs if you didn’t look white enough for their liking, and well, 13, it was plenty old enough to get you in jail for being-Queer.  
There weren’t a lot of safe houses and alternatives once you were put on the streets at this point. There were even soup kitchens who refused to serve me once they found out who-or what I was. I like to think, though, maybe I did something right, for God to think I should have a fighting chance because Fell found me sleeping behind some bushes in St. James’ Park one day.  
It took, well, a while for him to convince me to trust him enough to help me back on my feet, but even when he scared me, I just knew that he was-an honest man. He rented me rooms above the shop, on the condition that I would allow him to teach me everything I missed in school, he gave me lunch money, gave me something to do during the day to keep me occupied. Even after I left 5 years later, having found a job and a couple of friends to rent a place with me, I would come here to visit him and he was NEVER too busy, and he still remembered my favourite biscuits, and how I took my tea.” Nancy wiped her eyes on her sleeves, chuckling to herself. The crew was respectfully quiet. “This was how he would treat practically any and every person in need that would come to his doorstep, and it would be life-changing for-all of them, no matter how long or how short you stayed. This building-in it’s glory, was quite literally magical. I have seen him do and know things he couldn’t have ever known. The shop-it _breathed_ , and it lived. More often than not, it felt like an extension of him. You can tell if it was tired, or angry, or happy. And it was okay if you don’t believe me, because he has taught me that I didn’t need to prove anything, to anyone. You would know, or you wouldn’t.” Nancy shrugs. 

“What do you-I’m sorry, I have to ask-what did you mean when You said that you felt the building was alive?” Ryan asked. “ Do you feel that he was connected to it, in some way…?”

“Oh, definitely,” Nancy confirmed. “It’s always, the weirdest little things. Little miracles. The shop can tell the kind of people on its porch if they needed help or had bad intentions. It was never, not once, ever locked to me, and it was never locked to any other kid who would stumble upon it. The book you need is always here, even if he never lets you buy it, ALWAYS in the exact place you look for it. For context-there is an organization to the books, but Fell changes it every other day, in the most chaotic, most unwelcoming way you could possibly imagine. It would be there if you really need it, though, though believe me Fell would not Like it.”

“Wait, so-wait,” Shane suddenly interjects, confused. “So, wait, what do you mean-?”

“Fell _hated_ , I literally cannot stress this enough, _hated_ selling his books.” Nancy said, grinning. “Absolutely horrified by the concept of business, the only thing he hates more than greasy hands on his lovely books would probably be the concept of customers altogether. He was-just a completely different person if you were a customer. You would hate him. Believe me, the feeling would most likely be mutual.”  
“Wait, so,” said Ryan, confused and amused. “Why did he make it a shop? Why wouldn’t he just make it a library from the get-go?”  
“Because then there would be even MORE people coming to read his books.” Nancy laughed. “Just all day long, people, people, _people_. He can’t just close a public _library_ if he feels like it. And if he can’t, Crowley won’t have an excuse to pull him away for, I don’t know, a third lunch or a trip down St. James’. No, it would be better for him and all his books if he made it a _shop_.”  
“Why wouldn’t he just…put it in a house or something?” Shane asks. “A big old mansion at the top of the hill? Doesn’t sound too far off his aesthetic.”  
Nancy purses her lips in thought. “That’s never occurred to me, actually.” She said, before smiling anyway. “But, for the sake of every person he’s ever saved-I’m glad it never occurred to him either.” 

[ _People on the Internet who claim to have attempted to buy books from him allegedly accuse books flying out of their hands, having the book magically change titles as they are holding it, and on one instance, have the book_ hiss and growl _at them like a dog. They also claim that the air turns sour and mouldy upon reaching the till, and sights of a LARGE, BLACK BOA SIZED SNAKE snap at you in surprise from between the shelves, though authorities find no presence of this alleged snake when searching the perimeters of the shop, and no claims of Fell ever having owned one. Neighbours and passer-byes of the empty bookstore would often claim lights turning on and off despite having its power cut; voices, laughter and music originating mainly from the upstairs residential area and backroom. Nancy herself would claim to see disembodied snake hissing and glowing ember red eyes between the shelves, smells of pastry and tea in the kitchen, and books randomly falling off the shelves, as if pushed from behind to catch her attention_ ]

“There was this one time; my child-in-law, Jude, they were in the shop to check maintenance on the misprinted bibles a curator from the British Museum was coming over to check on, the next day,” Here Nancy gestured an off-limits section off the shop near the window display, next to the till, where some books stood behind expensive glass cases. “It was dusk, they’d been coming back from visiting my daughter before some travel for work-and as they were unlocking the case, they’d heard a definite _thunk_ , in the encyclopedia section, which sounded like-well, a book falling down.”  
Shane and Ryan nod commiseratingly.  
“That isn’t out-of-place, of course, I mean, it’s an old bookstore, and we lost a lot of the ensuing books to the fire, so it tends to make some creaks, right?” Nancy pointed out, reasonably. “Right. _Except,_ the book that fell down was something like this.” Nancy lifts a, frankly, gargantuan hardcover, 700 paged monstrosity from under her chair, wrapped in old, singed battered leather. The title; _The complete Thesis of the Romantic Era and cultural appropriation_ , is embossed in restored gold. Shane’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head. Ryan's hands scurried off the table as if he is afraid of even accidentally touching it. Nancy continues to demonstrate by placing on the table between them vertically and points a finger at it.  
“A lot of these books had managed to survive the fire due to their well-preserved manner, the wax, and of course, how bloody thick they all are.” She says. “So the bookshelf, you understand, is filled to the brim. It was wedged tight into its row, it would’ve been _impossible_ for it to have been pulled out without the whole shelf just-,” Nancy mimes an explosive sound, blowing through her cheeks. 

“But it didn’t?” Ryan asked, a little dumbly. 

“No,” Nancy said. “Just the one book.”

“Could be…rats,” Shane suggests, hesitantly. Nancy’s glare told them both what she thought of it. He looked immediately remorseful.  
“They had to admit it creeped them a little,” Nancy continues. “But it managed to point out that the underside of the stairs had begun to dangerously give, and we managed to save that before it reached far past the point of salvaging. This isn’t the first time this had happened, and honestly, some of the kids had even begun relying it far too much without actually bothering to check the premises themselves on their allotted patrols. We’re working on it.” Nancy assures quickly. 

“Well that’s kind of really cool, actually,” Shane admits. “Sort of like having someone watching over the building like a-,”  
“ _Don’t say it._ ”  
“ _Guardian Angel._ ” Shane says anyway, grinning. He looks insufferably pleased with himself.  
“You sonofa-,”  
Nancy started laughing.

[ _According to multiple witnesses, including people who was not present for the fire themself, report a cry of **anger and grief** so strong as to be heard in over a two-mile radius originating from the bookshop. One of the firemen who had heard it claimed it to be, I quote, “The most heartbreaking thing I have ever heard in my life, and I’ve worked a fireman for a solid decade. I have witnessed distraught loved ones and dying comrades, but this cry blew it all out of the water. Some of the younger ones literally _ broke down _at the sound of it. Whoever it was was praying for death of a broken heart.” End quote._ ]

“Welp,” said Ryan. “Here we are.”

The camera pans out to reveal that they now stand in the same sitting area as they had in the evening, and a clock on the left bottom corner of the screen showcases the time stamp to be 11.30 pm. Shane does a giddy clap. Ryan is doing that signature huge grin and wide-eyed look of terror.

“I’m about to shit my pants,” Ryan announces.

“Let’s catch us an angel!” Shane crows.


End file.
